Cold
by Goregeous
Summary: Slowly, Alfons is fading away. He doesn't want to be alone. For Charlien. Oneshot.


_**This is for my good friend Charlien. It was supposed to be a Christmas present for her… but we are way past the New Year XD Sorry girl, I wanted to make sure you get the best out of me. **_

_**Beta by Taranova**_

* * *

Icy needles pricked his milky white skin as he stepped out of the mist. He dropped the warm cotton material that had been compressing his hair on the wet tiles, forgotten. Beads ran down his skinny body, attracting more sensations of needles. He shivered, but he still didn't look for warmth.

He put his head down; his freezing hands lay on the cold white porcelain sink. Beads trickled down the strands of his hair, falling into the abyss of the sink. He watched each bead carefully, as if he was their god, and they were his children.

He saw them cling to the wall. He watched them struggle. He saw them lose their grip and bleed down the wall to their doom.

Alfons closed his eyes. Goosebumps formed on his spin. Not because of the cold, but because, for a moment, he saw himself in the small pearls of water.

For a moment, he hung over the sink in silence with his eyes still closed—like in prayer. He chuckled to himself and shook his head before he opened his eyes to look at the survivors.

"Am I so soft or so stupid for pitying droplets?"

Alfons turned on the cold faucet, putting an end to the droplets of water. He dipped his head lower, and put his hands under the running water. He was ready to throw the icy liquid in his face when he felt the familiar burning in his throat. His chest clenched; he hacked and tasted copper in his mouth. Coughing violently, he supported his weight with both sides of the sink and closed his eyes tight again. Crimson splattered everywhere. On the white porcelain, on the faucet, it even specked on the mirror. Tears formed.

He emptied his lungs until the air came easier. The strain in his head loosened until he felt light. Dizzy, he clung to the sink more tightly to keep on his feet. The last thing he needed was his roommate coming in to see him passed out on the cold bathroom floor with this bloodstained mess. Something he had yet to know of.

Swallowing a lump and some of the iron taste, he opened his eyes again and allowed the hot beads to run down his cheeks. The steam had turned back into a liquid substance. The hot tears dripped and fused with the blood. Through the clear space of the mirror he saw his eyes again and now witnessed the gruesome truth:

Trashed locks of hair.

Distressed, cold blue eyes.

Vivid coals in the bag.

Pale grey meat.

And pinkish lips, with wet red paint running down his bony chin.

_You're already dead._

He had gone numb, blind, and deaf. He didn't feel his blood cells start to boil. He didn't see his eyebrows knit together in anger. He didn't even hear the grinding of his teeth. He certainly didn't feel his hand coil, his nails digging in his flesh for blood. He certainly didn't hear the shake of his fist vibrating the sink against the wall. And he didn't see his fist strike at the mocking mirror, or hear the shatter of falling glass.

His nerves recharged when he heard the glass fall to the floor, when the shards opened a deep gash, and when the crimson returned again.

"Shit!"

Alfons pressed on the opening with his thumb and backed away, careful not to step on the broken shards. When he neared the toilet, he took a seat. He took his bloody hand off his right palm and replaced it with a wad of toilet paper.

The paper soaked up Alfons' life essence. It wasn't until half the roll was on his palm that the blood stopped. Compressing it one more time, he sat back and looked up at the mess he had made.

Red paint splashed here and there. The towel on the floor picked up crimson instead of water. More red painted the sink, drying up to a crust. The shattered mirror revealed the medicine cabinet, and the tablets in a thick burgundy jar. Alfons quickly looked away from the reminder, only to look down and see the truth again.

On the floor close to his right foot was a shard, which peered back at those dead eyes of his. The red paint dripped on the shard. Alfons looked back at his palm. The toilet paper was soaked, and his wrist made a creek. Looking down at his reflection again, the blood had dripped all over the glass. Everywhere but his reflection.

His blood cells went cold, every hair on his body raised. Eyes wide in despair, he took in every gulp of air like a fish out of water. It wasn't his reflection he was looking at; it was death personifying him. His arm, the one he used to cover the gash, started to look heavy. He gasped, his skin slowly beginning to melt away down to the bones. He heard his joints crack. His eyes darkened in horror when his whole arm fell with a splat to the floor. The toilet paper fell off and blood seeped out more than before.

His breathing became even heavier and he quickly looked away. The worst part was not being able to feel anything. Not even the hot air that escaped him. His face, some meat still attached, looked like death had taken over. Death smiled back at him with sickly amusement.

The banging on the door brought Alfons back. He yelped and jumped almost a foot high.

"Alfons? Alfons, are you okay in there?" his roommate asked. Releasing a sigh he looked at his surroundings. The mirror shards and blood were still on the floor and the sink. Looking at his shoulder, he saw his arm was still attached. The paper was still in place and no blood was spilling.

Alfons' head shot up as his name was called. "Alfons! Answer me, are you alright?"

"Yes, Edward!" Alfons shouted with more force than necessary.

"I heard something break, what happened?"

It seemed Edward didn't catch Alfons' rough tone, but his roommate was never one to be bothered by people's attitude. In fact, his personality welcomed it.

Looking back at the broken mirror and the blood, Alfons started to panic. He could say the blood was from the deep cut he got from the broken mirror. But there was so much blood from just his gash, and how the hell was he going to explain how the mirror broke?

"Alfons?" Ed pressed.

"I-It was the mirror," Alfons started. "I, um, I guess I swung it open too hard and it… broke." That was a horrible lie, and he knew it. But it seemed Ed didn't doubt it.

"Oh, okay. Do you want me to help you clea-"

"No," Alfons said as calmly as he could. "There are too many broken shards for two people to be in this small bathroom."

The light bulb buzzing was the only sound in the silence. Alfons waited for Ed's reply, but he only heard Ed's footsteps becoming distant. With a sigh of relief, Alfons looked back at the mess he had created and wondered if he could get the broom and dust pan before Ed could see what really happened.

* * *

He soaked almost two towels and hid them in brown paper bags under his bed. He threw all the glass in another paper bag, wrapping it up. After that, he made sure to put the evidence away in the bottom of a trash can.

The wind whistled in the empty streets of Munich. Gracia was struggling to keep her flowers from withering in the cold.

Alfons, who wore only sweatpants low on his hips, shivered visibly as he walked to his room from the kitchen. His feet were bare on the icy floor. He made his way down the hall towards his room. He turned the knob, only to be welcomed by more freezing pins and his lonely bed. Standing by the threshold and looking at the plain blue walls, Alfons sighed and walked in, not bothering to close the door.

He pulled the covers open; already they were warning him they would not offer him any warmth. With that, he made no movements to get in. With the blanket still curled in his hand, he only stared at the _fresh_ new bed sheets put on just this morning. He had had another fatal attack that morning. Along with the hidden towels under the bed were his stained sheets and all of his old rocketry sketches.

Cascading leaves of fall colored his window. Little stripes of rain soon joined. Another chill went down his spine. He looked back at the isolated bed.

_I don't want to be alone._

Dropping the covers, he just stood there and looked at the empty bed.

_I don't want to be alone. _

He was so cold. The prickles formed all over his body.

_I don't want to be alone._

Lifting his arms, he looked at his hands. The bandage was tight around his wound.

_I don't want to be alone._

He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes. He stroked his shoulder and arm, desperately searching for warmth and comfort.

_I don't want to be alone. _

The liquid substance at the corner of his eyes shook him. He dropped his hands to his sides and turned away, starting to walk in his bare feet. He didn't know where he was going, didn't care to think where. The echo of his steps continued down the hall until he came to a halt in front of his roommate's door.

Without knocking, Alfons carefully twisted the door knob with a soft click, and then pushed the creaking door. He poked his head in the room and what he saw made him smile. Edward was wrapped in a cocoon of his own covers. Even from that angle Alfons could tell he was sleeping in a ball.

He squeezed through as quietly as the creaky door would allow. He tip-toed towards the bed cautiously. His roommate, though gentle (when you looked), was dangerous when caught off guard.

At the head of the bed, Edward's locks were like gold leaves. Alfons hesitantly and gently shook him.

"Edward." No response. "Edward." He shook again. "Edward, please wake up." Finally there was a groan and the ball uncurled. Lowering the blanket, Ed looked over his shoulder with tired eyes.

"Alfons," he grumbled out. "What do you want?"

Alfons stood silently, trying to figure out a good reason why he came in and woke Edward up. He really had no reason. He didn't even think of coming there. He just showed up at Edward's bedroom door.

Chills assaulted his body again, so he rubbed off those annoying prickles.

"…I'm cold."

Edward only looked at him for a moment wondering if there was really more to it. When he himself started to feel the cold, he bundled the covers tighter around him with a groan, and moved over to the wall.

At that invitation, Alfons quickly crawled into the bed to lie down. Edward only had one pillow; Alfons should have brought one from his room, but didn't want to get it. He looked over at Edward, who had curled into a ball again to gather heat. Ed was hogging the pillow.

His stare must have made an impression on his friend's back since Ed asked, "You need something?"

"Oh, n-no, I'm just wondering… why are you so far away?"

Ed lowered the covers a bit to look at him.

"Why don't you come nearer so we can be warmer?" Alfons asked.

Edward didn't budge and only stared at him. Alfons could tell that Ed was confused and irritated by his offer.

"Please?"

When Ed didn't move, Alfons began to think that maybe he should get out of the bed and forget this ever happened. But then he felt the mattress shift, and body heat came closer. Their knees touched and their noses almost made contact.

"Aren't you a little big to crawl into someone's bed when you have a nightmare?" Ed wondered.

Alfons frowned. "I said I was cold. I didn't say I had a bad dream."

"Then why are you so pale?"

"Isn't your skin supposed to be colored when you're cold?"

"No, you're supposed to be blue. You're just pale."

God, Ed had a keen sense for cryptic. His genius was hidden by his lunacy, however; Alfons recalled loony stories about another world. It would have been a great novel; the stories of alchemy, automail, chimeras, homunculus, a Gate, and the little brother who lost his childhood at an early age. The little brother who supposedly looked just like him.

"There something you need to tell me, Alfons?"

Alfons looked at Ed's golden, intelligent eyes. It was painfully true that Alfons couldn't hide that something forever, and if he did die from consumption the last thing he wanted was his friend, his partner (his lover) cursing at him in tears.

The days until he joined the soil were clearly numbered. Perhaps when his soul left the world he would rest upon the clouds and in blissful dreams. Perhaps he would see his mother again, rest his head against her bosom, with her chestnut hair in his face reminding him of his childhood. They'd be in the old creaking rocking chair, resting against the fire where the cool night sky and stars of Munich appeared most vividly. She'd sing him a lullaby as they both counted the stars. She would assure him that his father would return from war soon.

"Everything will be alright my child. Just close your eyes and dream," she would say.

_And you're supposed to be a man?_

A familiar sensation spiraled in his veins and the hair on the back of his neck started to rise. Cautiously, his eyes shifted to the window beside Ed. Sitting on the window sill, the Reaper sat, rotting away as he looked at Alfons apathetically. His nose and left ear had rotted away, and his eyes were yellow, and the meat on his bones was purple. His own leg began to rip away from his body. It fell between the sheets near Ed's feet. He closed his eyes again, not wanting to let them open.

_Mama's not here._

"Alfons?"

Alfons opened his eyes and looked at Edward's sympathetic gold.

"Alfons, are you okay?"

Edward's face was concerned and penitent. A tiny creek made its way down to the bed sheets; it seemed like Alfons was a broken pipe; everything kept leaking out of him. He curled his hand under the covers and wiped the salt water from his face.

"Edward," Alfons said before Ed could ask any more questions. He heard his voice start to crack. "Can I hold you?"

At first, Ed didn't know what to do. He was never the one people came to when they needed help. But with a surge of empathy, he moved in closer and let himself be held against his chest. Alfons was so cold.

Alfons wrapped his arms tightly around Edward and dug his nose into his golden locks. Again, the creek made its way down his cheeks.

_I'm not a man._

He could still feel the presence of the Reaper watching him and wondered if he was smiling.

Edward could feel the creek make its way down his shoulder. It was awkward and alien to him, being cried on, but he couldn't just lay there and let his friend shed tears. Maybe, it was best for him to let it out.

_He had turned back into a child, and was home. _

_He could smell freshly baked bread set out on the counter. Two heartbeats; his mother's stomach was swollen as a melon. Edward made many attempts at snatching bread, opening the drawers as distraction. He grabbed a loaf and was burned. _

_He dropped the bread and clutched his hand. He lost his balance, fell and smashed his prize as the hot pan fell on his body. His mother heard the THUMP and the iron clatter on the floor, and her son's shrill sob. With her hand on her stomach, she ran to the kitchen. She stepped on the forgotten loaves of breads and dropped to her knees, taking him in her arms. _

_She stroked him and muttered soothing words that were drowned by his cries even with his face pressed in her breast. As she continued her words started to become clearer. _

"_It's okay." _

_The sobs were reduced to sniffs. He still clung to his arms; the burn had cooled to just a sting._

"_It's okay baby, it's okay," she continued to console. "It's alright, I'm here."_

Alfons' pleads for comfort started to increase. He heard soft cracks in his voice and his breath became heavy. Their feet were tangled under the warm covers. He was so cold.

Ed brought his fake arm up and hesitantly, carefully, touched Alfons' hair. Alfons' breath became hotter in his ear, and Ed's stomach tightened. Shocked from this sudden bit of arousal, Edward held his gasp in his throat and bit his lips. He moved his pelvis away, in case anything hardened. Only their thighs were able to mingle. He needed to concentrate.

As he shifted, Ed laid his head on Alfons' shoulder so that his ear touched the other boy's cheek and started to stroke his hair. Edward started to hush him and whisper gently in his ear. "It's okay." The words sank into the abyss. "It's okay, I'm right here."

He could hear Alfons' breathing start to become steady; his soft sobs became softer until there were only sniffs. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm here."

Alfons started to wipe off his tears in the sheets. With his face in the fabric, he listened to Edward's words and held him tight as if he was afraid he would lose him. The words died down, but the stroke of his hair continued. He felt lips press against his temple, there for a few seconds before Ed pulled away.

Alfons' eye lids started to become heavy, and his arms around Edward started to loosen. Taking in a breath, he looked up at the window, sill expecting to see death grinning, but he was gone.

Exhaling one more time, he buried his nose into Edward's gold hair and closed his eyes. Before giving into the temptation of sleep, he managed to breath a few words. "Thank you."

He was warm again.


End file.
